老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
I
They had been to Versailles and had dined there. A tram hadsufficed to take them out; but for the return, Gerald, who hadbeen drinking champagne, would not be content with less than acarriage. Further, he insisted on entering Paris by way of theBois and the Arc de Triomphe. Thoroughly to appease his conceit,it would have been necessary to swing open the gates of honour inthe Arc and allow his fiacre to pass through; to be forced todrive round the monument instead of under it hurt the sense offitness which champagne engenders. Gerald was in all his pridethat day. He had been displaying the wonders to Sophia, and hecould not escape the cicerone's secret feeling: that he himselfwas somehow responsible for the wonders. Moreover, he wasexceedingly satisfied with the effect produced by Sophia.
Sophia, on arriving in Paris with the ring on her triumphantfinger, had timidly mentioned the subject of frocks. None wouldhave guessed from her tone that she was possessed by the desirefor French clothes as by a devil. She had been surprised anddelighted by the eagerness of Gerald's response. Gerald, too, waspossessed by a devil. He thirsted to see her in French clothes. Heknew some of the shops and ateliers in the Rue de la Paix, the Ruede la Chaussee d'Antin, and the Palais Royal. He was much moreskilled in the lore of frocks than she, for his previous businessin Paris had brought him into relations with the great firms; andSophia suffered a brief humiliation in the discovery that hisprivate opinion of her dresses was that they were not dresses atall. She had been aware that they were not Parisian, nor even ofLondon; but she had thought them pretty good. It healed her wound,however, to reflect that Gerald had so marvellously kept his owncounsel in order to spare her self-love. Gerald had taken her toan establishment in the Chaussee d'Antin. It was not one of whatGerald called les grandes maisons, but it was on the very fringeof them, and the real haute couture was practised therein; andGerald was remembered there by name.
upwardsand was gone in dust. Its only.
Sophia had gone in trembling and ashamed, yet in her heartcourageously determined to emerge uncompromisingly French. But themodels frightened her. They surpassed even the most fantasticthings that she had seen in the streets. She recoiled before themand seemed to hide for refuge in Gerald, as it were appealing tohim for moral protection, and answering to him instead of to thesaleswoman when the saleswoman offered remarks in stiff English.The prices also frightened her. The simplest trifle here costsixteen pounds; and her mother's historic 'silk,' whoseelaborateness had cost twelve pounds, was supposed to haveapproached the inexpressible! Gerald said that she was not tothink about prices. She was, however, forced by some instinct tothink about prices--she who at home had scorned the narrowness oflife in the Square. In the Square she was understood to be quitewithout commonsense, hopelessly imprudent; yet here, a spring ofsagacity seemed to be welling up in her all the time, a continualantidote against the general madness in which she found herself.With extraordinary rapidity she had formed a habit of preachingmoderation to Gerald. She hated to 'see money thrown away,' andher notion of the boundary line between throwing money away andjudiciously spending it was still the notion of the Square.
Gerald would laugh. But she would say, piqued and blushing, butself-sure: "You can laugh!" It was all deliciously agreeable.
On this evening she wore the first of the new costumes. She hadworn it all day. Characteristically she had chosen something whichwas not too special for either afternoon or evening, for eitherwarm or cold weather. It was of pale blue taffetas striped in adarker blue, with the corsage cut in basques, and the underskirtof a similar taffetas, but unstriped. The effect of the ornateoverskirt falling on the plain underskirt with its small doublevolant was, she thought, and Gerald too, adorable. The waist washigher than any she had had before, and the crinoline expansive.Tied round her head with a large bow and flying blue ribbons underthe chin, was a fragile flat capote like a baby's bonnet, whichallowed her hair to escape in front and her great chignon behind.A large spotted veil flew out from the capote over the chignon.Her double skirts waved amply over Gerald's knees in the carriage,and she leaned back against the hard cushions and put an arrogantlook into her face, and thought of nothing but the intensethrobbing joy of life, longing with painful ardour for more andmore pleasure, then and for ever.
As the carriage slipped downwards through the wide, empty gloom ofthe Champs Elysees into the brilliant Paris that was waiting forthem, another carriage drawn by two white horses flashed upwardsand was gone in dust. Its only occupant, except the coachman andfootman, was a woman. Gerald stared after it.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "That's Hortense!"
It might have been Hortense, or it might not. But he instantlyconvinced himself that it was. Not every evening did one meetHortense driving alone in the Champs Elysees, and in August too!
"Hortense?" Sophia asked simply.
"Yes. Hortense Schneider."
"Who is she?"
"You've never heard of Hortense Schneider?"
"No!"
"Well! Have you ever heard of Offenbach?"
"I--I don't know. I don't think so."
He had the mien of utter incredulity. "You don't mean to sayyou've never heard of Bluebeard?"
"I've heard of Bluebeard, of course," said she. "Who hasn't?"
"I mean the opera--Offenbach's."
She shook her head, scarce knowing even what an opera was.
"Well, well! What next?"
He implied that such ignorance stood alone in his experience.Really he was delighted at the cleanness of the slate on which hehad to write. And Sophia was not a bit alarmed. She relishedinstruction from his lips. It was a pleasure to her to learn fromthat exhaustless store of worldly knowledge. To the world shewould do her best to assume omniscience in its ways, but to him,in her present mood, she liked to play the ignorant, uninitiatedlittle thing.
"Why," he said, "the Schneider has been the rage since last yearbut one. Absolutely the rage."
"I do wish I'd noticed her!" said Sophia.
"As soon as the Varietes reopens we'll go and see her," hereplied, and then gave his detailed version of the career ofHortense Schneider.
More joys for her in the near future! She had yet scarcelypenetrated the crust of her bliss. She exulted in the dazzlingdestiny which comprised freedom, fortune, eternal gaiety, and theexquisite Gerald.
As they crossed the Place de la Concorde, she inquired, "Are wegoing back to the hotel?"
"No," he said. "I thought we'd go and have supper somewhere, if itisn't too early."
"After all that dinner?"
"All what dinner? You ate about five times as much as me, anyhow!"
"Oh, I'm ready!" she said.
She was. This day, because it was the first day of her Frenchfrock, she regarded as her debut in the dizzy life of capitals.She existed in a rapture of bliss, an ecstasy which could feel nofatigue, either of body or spirit.